Recent readings: Manfred – act III end of scene I – Lord Byron

Abbot. This should have been a noble creature: he
Hath all the energy which would have made
A goodly frame of glorious elements,
Had they been wisely mingled; as it is,
It is an awful chaos—light and darkness,
And mind and dust, and passions and pure thoughts,
Mix’d, and contending without end or order,
All dormant or destructive. He will perish,
And yet he must not; I will try once more,
For such are worth redemption; and my duty
Is to dare all things for a righteous end.
I’ll follow him—but cautiously, though surely. [Exit ABBOT.
Anúncios

Pursuing one’s own

Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.
― Franz Kafka

As I have written here before, I have been experiencing a lot of self doubt and rejection on matters I feel strongly about, even about my craft which is the cleanest reflection of who I am and what I stand for.

In the past months I’ve been pushed and bent almost to the point of cracking and breaking, I was made feel like it was a part of the process of learning a trade and bowing down to those who were seasoned. Fact is I only needed the knowledge and the example, not the domination, not the exploitation of my position in hierarchy. This process meant a lot of dwelling within me, making up my mind wether to see it through to the end or moving on. I’m not one to give up on what I’ve set my mind to do, so I provided I played it their way, but my goal was to steal every bit of knowledge from them, since I was in disadvantage, I had my eye on the tools, not the winning cup, I leave cum laude for the scholars. What I want is to mash what I’ve learnt with my obsessions and pursue an even tighter one. I almost split into two versions of me, one that was scared of not being good enough and another one, too proud and angry. I had to trick’em into giving me what I wanted without getting noticed and, therefore, escaping unpunished and intact from their grip, free to do my own.

Like in all forms of knowledge, technique oriented only oriented training doesn’t mean great performance, and if technique and standart procedures are taught, how do we evolve? Where’s the innovation? Only a few break the mold thinking creatively, breaking the rules they’ve been taught, thus contributing to the further questioning and improvement of their craft. We all need to take chances and think outside the box and pitch our obsessions, making them noticed and seen. What’s there to lose, anyway?

GJ

Ouroboro, tantas grafias, um símbolo apenas

.

.

1147503_771032146258974_375052811_o

.

Este símbolo representa a natureza cíclica da alquimia. A serpente que engole a própria cauda simboliza os ciclos naturais, o eterno, e processos indivisíveis das práticas alquímicas.  Os alquimistas eram ainda muito interessados pelos fenómenos naturais, e usariam o Ouroboro quando necessitavam de ilustrar os conceitos de renascimento e regeneração.  Mais importante ainda, este poderoso símbolo animal alquímico representa a máxima “a unidade do todo” que é, por defeito, a filosofia mais complexa de compreender. O Ouroboro direcciona o subconsciente para penetrar n”a unidade do todo”, e abastece-nos do foco necessário à reincarnação, à aceitação dos contínuos ciclos da vida, sendo um sublime símbolo alquímico para o infinito.

.

.

GJ

Meu Antinoo

Partindo do longo e trágico poema Antinoo de Pessoa, e de uma maré de sentimentos dicotómicos de paixão intensa, vertigem e excessivo zelo, face ao opressor calor que se fez sentir, busquei a chuva que caía nas margens do Nilo, de onde pescaram o corpo de Antinoo, a frigidez do seu corpo de alabastro, o calor frustrado de Adriano que amava o corpo do amante morto em violações consecutivas, incapazes de ressurreição. A divindade morta mantinha a glória, vibrando nos braços do rei, afogado e remando ao encontro da próxima paragem. O rio Nilo sujou-o. A vergonha sujou-o. Apenas o sacrifício o honrou.

meu antinoo

Beautiful        was             my       love         , yet         melancholy.
He        had        that       art,      that    makes     love    captive   wholly,
Of         being         slowly          sad          among       lust’s    rages.

Antinoo, Pessoa.

GJ